Title: Alice
Rating: T
Pairings: N/A
Characters: Various
Variation: Alice Madness Returns AU

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Character death and Mentions of paedophilia later on.

Summary: All is not what it appears, do you trust those around you or yourself? Because, after all, madness is not a state of mind. Madness is a place. Lets go there, shall we?

Notes:

Based on the game of Alice Madness Returns. Massive fan of the game and I started this a while back.

Characters:
Patrick O'Hara/Northern Ireland - Alice Liddel
Adriaen Anderson/Netherlands - Dr. Angus Bumby
Peter/Sealand - Orphan Boy
Anya Braginski/Nyotalia Russia - Nurse Witless.

xxx

"Come on now Patrick, it's only a dream."

The teapot trundles along to his side of the table, practically tipping itself over as it begins to pour tea into the waiting porcelain cup before him. Its large red eye blinks at him before scuttling back towards the middle, passing the hare and the mouse on the way.

"No it's not, it's a memory!"

A deep chuckle and a sickening smirk. "Focus, now, you're floating again. You're weightless, relax."

Everything seems to melt away then, the hare and the hatter dissolving into nothing as fire seemed to erupt around him, the shouts and screams of battle raging behind him as he stared horror struck up at a malicious queen sat upon her throne. His heart is hammering in his chest at the demonic face grinning down at him.

"I…I'm in hell."

"Forget it!" There's force behind that voice. "Abandon that memory, it is unproductive. Go to Wonderland."

There are flashes of faces, flashes of the creatures that reside in this world. Of rabbits, caterpillars and monsters, of friendly faces and those who want – wanted – to harm him. His heart is still hammering as everything becomes black, stood in a single spotlight and staring a little blankly up at the brilliant white light.

"I can't…" He breathes it rather than speaks. "I'm trapped…In my past."

He can hear the voices of the firemen, passing under the stares of people with no faces as a fire roars behind him. Everything is bathed in the glowing red and orange hues of the fire light as their faces begin to twist into those of monsters, an ever present sound of a ticking clock getting louder and louder.

"No Patrick, discard that delusion. Forget it." The forceful edge is back again. "Go to Wonderland."

"I don't want to. My Wonderland is broken, dead." There's a sigh and a groan.

The fire is gone and so has the burning heat, replaced by a forest and river and the dark sky by a cloudless blue one with the sun beating down on him. He's confused, he's lost. He doesn't know where he is or why this place seems so familiar but he is bemused all the same.

"Your preference I care for not, boy. Now Patrick, where are you?"

"I'm…I'm sailing with a friend."

He stares at the white rabbit across the lily pad boat, smile tugging at his lips as warmth spreads through his hand from the cup held within them. He was in Wonderland again. But something had changed; something was different about his Wonderland.

"Oh?"

"But it's different somehow, things…things have changed."

"Change is good. It's the first link in the chain of forgetting."

His eyes widen a fraction as the other begins twitching, breaths becoming short as the rabbit seemingly has a fit, twitching and shaking in a way that only those who are mad can. What…what was happening?

"What's wrong? Have you gone mad?"

"I'm not mad."

"Rabbit…"

"That can't be right, what is he doing there!"

"Is something…"

He's bleeding now, blood pouring from his sockets and mouth like a crimson froth, words bubbling from his bloodied mouth before the rabbit groans. Then it explodes, blood falling like rain before being joined by something distinctly tar like as he begins trembling with fear and horror.

"No…No, not that!"

"Don't struggle Patrick, let the new Wonderland emerge."

Everything becomes contaminated then as the trees die away and the once blue waters turn to tar, heads and limbs stuck in the goo and twitching at every passing second. He's in hysterics as the arms start crawling aboard, grabbing and pulling at his arms and legs, slowly creeping up his struggling body.

There's nothing but a shrill scream to break the silence.

xxx

"There, better now, are we?" He doesn't reply straight away, he's curled up on the sofa shaking. The doctor sighs as he reclines on his desk, taking a drag of the cigarette between his lips as he just watched the shaken redhead. Such a pretty thing, it was a shame he hadn't succeeded yet. But there was still time for that.

"How can I feel better?" He starts quietly, not looking up at the doctor as he stared intently at his knees and the worn wooden floor of the room. "My head has exploded and there's a steam hammer in my chest. How does that make me better, Dr Anderson?"

Anderson laughs off the question like it's nothing as the pallid redhead finally looks up from his limbs and at him. "The cost of forgetting is high; the pain is only a small price to pay in order to gain it." He says it in a way that he supposes is supposed to be reassuring but it does nothing for him. He's not sure he even wants to forget anymore if it meant feeling like he was having a heart attack after every session.

Patrick doesn't voice his concerns over forgetting or not as his therapist moves to sit on the seat opposite him, clasping his hands and resting them on his legs as he stared intently at his patient. "I'll set you free Patrick, memory is often a curse more than a blessing."

"You've said that before and…"

"And I will say it again; the past must be paid for." There's a force to his voice again that silences any argument Patrick may have had, dumbly nodding and looking down like he was ashamed of arguing back with the other. "Good, now for our next encounter I would like it if you could pick up those pills from the high street chemist, okay?"

"Right, I will doctor." He begins to uncurl then, feet hitting the floor and pushing his body up before heading towards the doorway, aware of Anderson's eyes on him all the time. Patrick blinks at the small blonde boy waiting outside the door as he opens it, beaming up at him in a way he thought couldn't be healthy.

"It's my turn to forget, Patrick!" He watches as the boy passes by and takes the seat he'd been curled up in only moments before.

"Ahh Peter, your father was hung for killing your mother who used to beat you. Let's forget that, shall we? The past is dead, Peter." He's left before the doctor starts speaking but he can still hear his voice as he pauses outside the door to catch his breath, wondering if it was still right to get rid of his memories.

He shakes his head, regaining his breath and starts making his way to the exit, passing the orphans who just stared at him as he passed. They must have heard the screaming, why else would they be staring at him like that? Maybe he should just try harder at forgetting, maybe if he finally forgot all these broken memories he'd be better then.

A shiver runs through him as he steps out onto the streets of London, it's surprisingly cold for August but he can't complain. The market is busy and bustling, the tradesmen shouting and boasting about their products and how they were a higher calibre than those of the stalls around them.

His attention focuses on a cat not too far ahead, a cubby thing that seems somewhat out of place in the dirty streets with its orange fur. "Here, kitty, kitty." The cat just meowed at him before running away or at least Patrick supposed it was running. The feline seemed to be waddling more than anything. "Wait up!"

He's not paying attention to where he's going just that he's following the cat he's now caught up with, the orange tabby showing a sign of annoyance at the sudden company but stayed quiet anyway. The cats gone when he reaches a dark passageway, staring round as he suddenly becomes panicked, where…where was he?

He turns as he hears a deep growl behind him, hand coming to his mouth as he gasps in horror at the man. Only it isn't a man. In place of his head is that of a monster, the boy practically hyperventilating as he began walking backwards and away from him only to walk into something. Turning on his heal, Patrick is shocked to find another and another, quickly surrounded by the humanoid beasts.

He's just about ready to scream when there's a hand on his shoulder, gasping and turning only not to find the beasts but Nurse Braginski smiling down at him, seemingly unaware of the fear the other was feeling. "Bless my soul, if it isn't Patrick O'Hara. Slumming again, da?"

"Nurse Braginski, what luck." He can't hold back the sarcastic edge to his tone, scratching at the skin on his wrist as he turned away from her. "Twice in as many months, how lucky of me."

She seems to ignore his words, smiling that usual childish grin down at him. "Out by yourself, you're looking a little startled. Not quite feeling yourself today, are we?" He shakes his head in response, trying to end the conversation as quickly as he could. Lord knows he wasn't the fondest of the other. "Come along home then and look at my birds, da? Pretty little things just like you."

He shifts uncomfortably at the comparison. It was one thing to be called pretty but another to be compared to a pigeon of all things. "That's a lovely offer and that but I would rather not. Our last meeting cost me several pounds and it's gotten me nowhere." The childish grin grows a little wider then, like she knows something he doesn't. He hates it when she does that, no he despises it.

"If you come along I might recall where that rabbit of yours got to."

xxx

Still a mess, no surprise. His kin roasted like chestnuts right before his eyes, ten years in Rutledge asylum wasted everyone's time. Doctor Anderson won't do much better, still hauling out his questions. The Fire, his memory. Don't I deserve some consideration? Who found him his new clothes? Who got him a place at Anderson's? Where'd he be without me?

On the streets selling his backside! Likes my pigeons though. So he's doled out the odd pound or two but what I know is worth more than that. Kept his secret, da. Heard him say 'all died on my account, I couldn't save you.' I've told him my silence is for sale, cheap, I'm a good soul really.

Not like his nanny, that uppity whore or that lawyer fellow, Edelstein, who took his stupid rabbit. Need money, told him I'd tell the coppers if he didn't make his donation to my upkeep. He yells and goes off his head! Says he can't even remember his name.

But I heard.

xxx

He pauses by the exit to the roof as the Russian woman begins to feed her pigeons, cooing the filthy birds in a way that could only convey that the blonde was not all there. "Nurse Braginski…" The towering giant of a woman turns to face him then, giving him a look that could only say that she wished for him to continue. "Do you…do you wish to harm me, to send me back to the asylum?"

She laughs. She actually laughs and turns back round with a swing of her skirts as she turns her attention back to her birds. "I won't say no, I've a thirst you can photograph." She moves between the cages and the redhead uncertainly follows her, moving closer but not that far from the exit. He had more sanity then trust for this woman.

"Need a drink." Her voice has changed, becoming deeper and wilder like some beast and it seems more of a demand than a question in that voice. She continues to speak but it's lost in translation as something loudly cracks and wings sprout from the nurse's back.

He starts backing away even before she turns, panic coursing through him as his heart starts beating at 150 miles per hour again. When she turns she isn't Nurse Braginski anymore, she's the same as those creatures from the alley, growling and screeching at him as it headed straight for him.

She was going to kill him; no, it was going to kill him.

The roof starts shaking, cracks appearing under his breath that snatches his attention away from the winged beast that was formerly his nurse and to the cracks as light beamed through them. He forgets to breathe as the roof gives way, waiting for the collision with the floor below only to not get one.

He's in shock as he falls, hearing the voices of Anderson and Braginski alike as he falls further and further. He passes pocket watches, furniture and dolls heads as well as other assortments of familiar yet foreign objects. Patrick continues to fall until he begins to slow; nearly coming to a stop before something seems to swell in him and explodes, soothing his troubled thoughts and making everything okay.

He only knew of one place that could do that, one place alone.

Wonderland. He was back in Wonderland.